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An excerpt …

This all started because my dad seems to think he’s always right. He was right when he said that our family vacation wouldn’t be a normal camping trip. I had never been camping before so I wasn’t really sure what I should expect. Actually, none of us had been camping before. That should have been the first warning sign. This wasn’t Dad’s first grand plan. Last year, Mom decided that we should go to Florida over Christmas. Dad, worried that we would miss the snow, decided to pack some in our suitcase. Mom wasn’t very happy to find her clothes soaked with melted snow. And the summer before that, he wanted to hold his own fireworks show. But when we got rained out, he moved it into our garage. It was okay, the fire chief knew where we lived.

And why did we have to go on Memorial Day weekend? I wanted to go to my friend Lauren’s house. Mom tried to opt out, “You two need some father-daughter time.” It didn’t work.

Dad was excited; I wasn’t. I’m not the outdoorsy type. I’m the let’s order room service type. I don’t know what I ever did to nature, but it really seems to have it out for me. I can’t even go outside to get the mail without being bitten by a bug.

I had been studying early American settlements in school. Of course, my dad finds this to be the perfect “learning experience.” Great, now it’s my fault. I should have told him we were studying the world’s finest resorts.

We needed to get camping equipment so Dad and I headed to the worst place to be on a holiday weekend, Walmart.